Catch Me
by RipplesOfAqua
Summary: Cassandra finds the geography of the Forbidden Oasis more treacherous than she expected.


So I wrote a thing! It's based off a prompt from the-modern-typewriter on tumblr.

Admittedly, I wrote it while procrastinating finishing a one-shot I wrote while procrastinating a longer story that I started while procrastinating working on my grad school applications. Ughh. But it is so damn nice to be writing again!

Also posted to my accounts on AO3 and tumblr (both also ripplesofaqua).

* * *

They've been in the Forbidden Oasis for days, and Cassandra begins to suspect that she is not built for the heat. Her entire body feels raw from the sun and blowing sand, and her throat aches for more liquid than she dare take from her waterskin. Underneath her armor, sweat glues cloth, sand, and skin together, but she _will not_ regret her earlier disregard for Varric's advice. She does not _need_ special clothing for this heat, and if she is to be the only warrior present on this excursion, she must be armored well enough to defend the others on her own.

Still, the weight of her armor and the sun-heated air presses heavy upon her.

She sighs. Their most serious enemies have turned out to be two things she is near helpless against: the weather and the Inquisitor's inability to recognize their own dismal navigation skills. She has lost count of the wrong turns they have made, of the many tunnels they have taken only to end up somewhere unexpected and unwanted.

And now they have followed the Inquisitor up steep ladders and across neglected scaffolding in a vain attempt to figure out where they are from higher ground. At this point, all Cassandra knows is that they have set up camp at the very top of a very-neglected mining structure – one that does _not_ look safe.

She risks a glance at Varric. He determinedly faces away from the edge, and Cassandra catches the tension in his eyes. For once she cannot blame him, as she too longs to feels solid ground underneath her feet. Longs to reach out to him, to place her hand on his shoulder and anchor them both to reality.

Or perhaps, not to reality but to a dream.

"Oi, can't reach me up here, can you? Ugly, wolf-y thing."

Sera's taunt snaps Cassandra out of her musings, and she looks over to find the elf aiming a jar or bees at a pack of hyenas, snarling far below.

Cassandra rolls her eyes. This is what happens when she gets distracted for even a moment. She opens her mouth, ready to chastise Sera, for the bees would undoubtedly make the situation worse.

But something creaks, and Cassandra reaches out instinctually to grasp Sera's arm. Using all her strength, Cassandra pulls Sera away from the edge, just as the board under the elf's right foot gives way and plummets to the ground far below. Their balance off, the two collapse into a pile atop sand-covered timber and Cassandra winces at the impact. After a moment, Sera pushes against her and scrambles to stand up.

" _Shit-biscuits_ , I have sand… in _places_. Aughh, it's in my _shoes_."

"You are alive, Sera." Cassandra's voice is grim as she pulls herself to her feet, annoyance flashing as Varric fails to hide his laughter behind a sleeve. "Inquisitor, I believe we have spent enough time up here. Let us continue on."

Mercifully her companions agree, and after the long climb down, they resume their weary trek through the desert.

It is not an improvement.

Cassandra can feel his eyes on her and she stops herself from fidgeting. She cannot bear to give any indication of her discomfort. After all, how can she pretend her heart is impervious to these feelings if _he_ is aware he has some effect on her.

It feels strange. After months of criticizing his lies, she is now the one lying to herself. To them both.

But lying is not in her blood, and she wonders how long this fragile falsehood can last before the truth escapes her chest.

Their party trudges on, and the sun does not seem so harsh compared with his gaze burning into the back of her neck. She did not think it was possible to feel warmer than she had in this weather, but something scorches a path down her chest and into her stomach.

She cannot take it anymore.

"Alright, out with it dwarf."

Varric chuckles, frustratingly nonchalant, and takes a few quick steps to walk beside her. His grin bodes nothing good. "If I swoon into your arms, Seeker, will you catch me too?"

"No." Her curt reply offers a flimsy shield against the fluttering of her heart.

There is a strange look in his eyes, but she will not think about how it would feel to wrap her arms around his muscular frame, to feel the weight of his body pressing against her. No, she refuses to imagine what his strong arms, now bare in his sleeveless armor, might feel like wrapped around her own body. Would those arms have the strength to—

"Ughh," she scoffs, sending a quick prayer to the Maker that her sun-burnt skin hides any trace of the blush that refuses to disappear.

This is pathetic. She is a grown woman and there is a task she must complete.

And then she can leave this forsaken place and take a much-needed bath.

The thought of returning to Skyhold, to its cold and comfort, centers her mind and keeps her focused on something other than the headache blooming between her eyes.

Keeps her from thinking about Varric.

They do not make it back to the Desert Camp until after sunset, and Cassandra's shoulders sag in relief at the prospect of a proper tent and some water. She pauses for a moment just outside camp, leaning against an ancient column as she revels at the thought of sleep.

The sand shifts beneath her feet and the pillar lurches away, though for some reason she does not move with it.

Something warm and hard wraps around her waist, a welcome weight anchoring her to the earth. For a moment, she gazes down the cliff in front of her, and she is unsure which is more responsible for the heavy pounding of her heart: the distance she would have fallen or Varric's warm body behind her.

She does not think she wants to know the answer, but something deep inside tells her she will be unable to deny it for long.

"Careful, Cassandra." His voice is rough against her neck, and she shivers. "Dwarves aren't made for this heat, and my reflexes aren't what they should be. I'd hate to see you fall where I can't catch you."

There is more than one precipice hidden in the meaning of his words, and suddenly Cassandra thinks that it might not be so horrible if she let the truth slip.

She turns to face him, though the confidence of her words belies the gnawing at her heart.

"You will find a way, Varric. You always do."


End file.
